


Don't Forget Me

by Bright_down



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Family Drama, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Resurrection, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-07 08:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14076849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bright_down/pseuds/Bright_down
Summary: Lucifer gets shot by a perp on a case that he and Detective Decker were working. When he wakes up, in a human hospital no less, he's severely confused. Who is Detective Chloe Decker? Why was she immune to his charms? And more importantly...why can't he get her out of his head?In short: what the Hell is going on?





	1. Ash falls; Hell calls

A loud _bang_ cracked through the air like a whip. Chloe’s eyes widened. _Lucifer!_ She had to get to him. Get to him before…she stopped that mental train of thought. Cold metal in hand, ready to fire, she burst through the open roller doors.

Two people stood in the middle of the warehouse, faces shadowed. Rimmed in the silver glow of the moon, her partner’s back cut a sharp figure.

“LAPD, stand down!” she commanded, voice bellowing in the emptiness of the tin confines.

The man before Lucifer crumpled, hitting the concrete like a sack of potatoes. A deep knot, constricting her lungs, unwound as she exhaled deeply. In that moment, she honestly couldn’t care less whether the perpetrator was dead or simply knocked unconscious, so long as it wasn’t Lucifer.

Arms leaden, the adrenaline seeping from her veins, Chloe lowered the gun and stashed it in her holster. “Lucifer,” she called, voice weary. Why did he always have to chase things up on his own?

“Detective, you have…horrible timing,” he said, his whispered honeyed voice carrying easily in the silence. Before her eyes, Lucifer suddenly toppled sideways, legs crumbling.

“LUCIFER!” she screamed, rushing over. She dropped to the ground heavily, hands reaching out to her partner. A slick wetness coated her skin. Her breath hitched. “You’re bleeding,” she stated, lips thin.

“Astute…observation,” Lucifer said weakly, mouth curved up in a ghost of a smile.

“Don’t talk,” she ordered stonily, pulling her mobile phone from out of her pants pocket with trembling fingers and speed dialled the emergency line. “This is Detective Chloe Decker. Civilian shot and down at the dock warehouse on Carmen Road. Severe bleeding. I need immediate medical assistance.”

Lucifer breathed unsteadily. Each inhalation and exhalation shot white hot pain through his chest, like the bullet was ripping through his skin and organs over and over. He kept his eyes affixed to the cause of his current – and highly unpleasant – conundrum. Mentally, he knew this wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever felt; burning alive in the all-consuming Fires of Hell, his very flesh melting down to the bone, soul screaming for relief, still took the top shelf of the bar. Physically, however, his now very mortal body was struggling with a pathetically tiny metal casing lodged deep within him.

So very fascinating.

Vaguely, he felt the Detective’s hands on him, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. “Oh, undressing me now? Someone’s…impatient…” he said, raising an eyebrow. He’d aimed for suggestive banter, but even he could hear how raspy his voice sounded.

“You know, there are better ways to get me to take off your clothes than getting shot,” the detective replied trying to play along, expression stiff, voice tight. Her hands were covered now. Lucifer’s blood beneath every fingernail. She tried to look past all the redness. The bullet wound now exposed, she ripped cloth to create a makeshift seal, and applied a steady, firm pressure.

“The medical team should be here soon,” she said. “We just need to hold tight a little longer, okay?”

Lucifer gazed up at the detective through lidded eyes. Even with smears of blood across her cheek and hair unravelling from the neat bun she contained it in, she was still beautiful. In her eyes, wells of unshed tears shone. He raised a hand to caress her cheek weakly, milky skin just as soft as he’d imagined.

If he was going to die and get kicked straight back to Hell, he would at least do so seeing her face one last time. Lucifer tried to carve every exquisite detail into his mind.

“Pity…I won’t see you…in Hell,” he said sadly.

The detective’s eyes sharpened. “You’re not going to Hell or anywhere else. You’re going to stay here with me. As the world’s most egomaniacal, narcissistic, insufferably infuriating partner. As _my_ partner,” she said, voice cracking.

Darkness was creeping in, a fog clouding his mind. A numbness spread. Faintly, the world smelt of ash. Hell was calling him back. _Not yet._ He still had so much – well – hell to raise on Earth. So much liquor to drink. Parties to be had. Sex. Drugs. Things he had to say...

“Detective…”

Warmth enclosed his hand as it fell, strength failing; the detective’s slim fingers gripped his own tightly.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Lucifer Morningstar,” she said fiercely. “I can hear the sirens. You just need to hold on.”

Cold splashes dropped onto his hand. “Don’t…cry…over the Devil…’m not…worth…”

“You’re worth everything.”

“Find…good man…better than…me…. Treat you…right…” Lucifer said, the words slurring between shuddering inhalations.

“I don’t need a good man. I need a devilish one. I need _you_ ,” Chloe said, lips curving into a wobbly smile.

He could see the ash falling gently now. It was claiming him back. _No_. _Not yet._ He needed more time. Detective Chloe Decker was so close to him now, the very essence of everything she was heady and intoxicating. How could he leave her? The one thing that made him feel alive? Gave his insufferable, unending existence meaning? Made him feel emotions long buried and forgotten?

He needed to tell her. Tell her the words he’d been so desperately avoiding, afraid to let them into the open.

“I lo –” he began, but it was too late. Hell snatched him back, ripping him away from his mortal shell.

Darkness descended.

 

“Lucifer?” Chloe whispered. His eyes were closed now. Chest still. Expression smooth. “Lucifer? No. No. _God_ no. Lucifer!” she was screaming now. Over and over. Calling his name. He couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t. This was Lucifer. Confident, uncaring, seemingly invulnerable Lucifer.

She dimly realised the presence of people moving in around her. Someone was talking to her, trying to lead her away. She let them. Her eyes never left Lucifer. People in uniforms were surrounding him, moving him onto a stretcher. Paramedics, her brain supplied numbly. She watched dazedly as they carted him into the red and white vehicle and began to speed away.

The world blurred, everything blotchy. This wasn’t happening. She collapsed to the ground, letting the presence beside her envelope her in their cold embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Devil's on my shoulder, telling me to tell y'all the truth: I've honestly got no idea where this story is leading. I simply felt compelled to write something a bit angsty with my two favourite characters to deal with waiting for the next episode in season 3 (because I'm hopelessly obsessed and can't get them out of my head). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story (and the ride). Comments and feedback always welcome - good, bad, or otherwise :)


	2. Never Say No to a Beautiful Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer wakes up in hospital.

Regular beeps punctuated the eerie quiet of the room. The Devil opened his eyes, mind groggy. He was greeted by a cold, sterile white. A pervasive chemical stench stung his nose. This was most certainly _not_ his penthouse. The sheets he was swaddled in felt scratchy and cheap, and the mattress he lay on firm and not at all conducive for a fun time.

He sat up, pulling a face at a vague twinge of pain radiating through his chest, and looked around dazedly. To his right, a line zagged up and down in steady patterns on a monitor screen. Clipped to his fingers, a strange device hooked to wires. He pulled them off, discarding them to the side. Needles were stuck in his arm like a pincushion, delivering goodness knows what concoction of medical grade drugs to his system. Terrible shame that his celestial constitution blocked their effects. He pulled them out too. Lucifer knew precisely where he was, but what the Hell was he doing waking up in a hospital, like a common human?

The creak of a door alerted him to someone entering. A woman. A stunningly beautiful woman, with blonde locks tussled just enough to give body and volume, framing her face. She looked very surprised – and relieved? – to see him.

“You’re awake!” she said, face splitting into a wide smile as she walked over to him.

Lucifer threw the blankets off and nimbly swung his legs over the side of the single bed. He stood up, feet bare on the cold linoleum floor. A distant thump started knocking in his skull, but he pushed it to the side. Oozing devilish charm and lusty desire, despite being clothed in ridiculous hospital gown attire – he was the Devil, he could make rags attractive – he gave the woman a flooring smile.

“Why hello, my darling. Aren’t you simply ravishing,” he said, voice sensual and husky as his eyes roamed her up and down.

“What are you doing up?” said the woman, expression confused. “You should be resting.”

“I’m mentally calculating how long it would take me to get you out of those clothes and onto this bed. Ever had mind-blowing sex in a hospital?” he said suggestively, eyes dark with want.

The woman frowned at him deeply…that wasn’t normally the reaction he received when he purposely cranked his natural gifts. By his calculations, she should have been shredding this awful gown off his back and been naked by now.

Intriguing.

Closing the gap, he bent down to be level with her, nose inches away. Staring straight into the depths of her incredible blue-grey eyes, he whispered seductively, “Tell me – what do you desire more than anything in the world?”

The woman raised her eyebrows, levelling him with an unimpressed look. “Lucifer, is this a joke? You know your desire-mojo-thing doesn’t work on me.”

Lucifer blinked and snapped up straight, dropping the act. “Oh. We know each other? My deepest apologies; I normally remember the face of every woman who’s had the _pleasure_ of bedding the Devil,” he smirked scintillatingly.

Oddly, the woman’s face turned a sick, ashy colour at his words. He raised an eyebrow and touched his face. Definitely his handsome non-Devil face on. Was there something wrong with this particular human?

“Lucifer, it’s _me_ ,” she said, a weak tremor in her voice. “Don’t you remember?”

“I’m sorry my darling, I’m a bit out of sorts it seems,” he said mildly, the initial distraction of the woman fading, and he remembered that he – of all creatures to walk the universe – woke up in a human hospital. Whatever transpired was clearly the work of the meddling self-righteous Divine asshole above. Fury prickled under his skin, the fires within him burning.

They were doused to a simmer just as quickly by warm hands grabbing his own, like they were a life line thrown out to sea. “I’m Detective Chloe Decker,” she said, big eyes capturing his, searching.

“Ooh, a _detective,”_ he purred. “Have I been a bad boy? I’ll gladly let you cuff me,” he said, whispering into her ear.

“No. Lucifer, stop,” she said, releasing his hands and taking a step back. “I’m a homicide detective and you’re my partner. We work together at the LAPD. Please, you have to remember some –”

“What in my own name would I be doing consorting with the LAPD? I’m the Devil. Catching the world’s scum is not my style. Punishing them on the other hand…”

“Yes!” the woman cried out suddenly. “Y-you joined the LAPD because you said you wanted to punish those who deserved it.”

“Now that does sound more like me…” Lucifer admitted, brows drawing together in a strained pinch. The dim pound in his head started to thunder. It was distracting. “I don’t…what happened? Do _you,_ Miss Detective, know why I’m in this infernal place?” he said, waving offhandedly around him. “And where are my clothes? This hospital get-up is rather unseemly.”

“You got shot –”

“Me? Shot?” Lucifer interrupted, incredulous. “With one of your trifling metal contraptions? I hardly think that’s the cause,” he laughed.

“I was with you. I tried to – but I couldn’t – there was t-too much and you – y-you…” the woman – Detective Chloe Decker – started babbling disconnectedly, tears in her eyes. For him?

Lucifer stiffened as the woman embraced him in a crushing hug, her shoulders shuddering from silent sobs. Now, he wasn’t one for comforting humans physically – unless it involved sex, of course – but he softened at the emotional display before him. “Your concern for my well being is very touching,” he said, patting her hair awkwardly. It seemed to alleviate her troubles. “But it’s rather hard to kill me. You see, I’m –“

“Immortal. Yes, you’ve told me before,” said the detective, withdrawing from Lucifer with red rimmed eyes. Lucifer thought the bloody colour set off the blue in her eyes spectacularly. His head throbbed with a vengeance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – you don’t even know who I am,” she mumbled.

“I never say no to being accosted by a beautiful lady, no matter the circumstances,” he said, smiling a fraction, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

The detective looked at him, eyes sad despite the small grin now adorning her face. “Have the doctors seen you yet? I should probably notify someone that you’re up – give them all warning before you go chatting up some pretty nurse or doctor,” she said, and then added, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Warning them won’t help,” Lucifer said to the detective’s retreating back as she left, head shaking at his comment. “Partners, are we?” he said to himself, lips curving up at the idea.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay and wait for her and the good doctor. He needed answers.

 

“Lucifer, I’m back,” said Chloe, opening the door to the private hospital room Lucifer Morningstar had been checked into for the past 48 hours. Looking around the room, she sucked in a deep breath. “And you’re not bloody here. I should’ve known better,” she grumbled.

The doctor looked positively stricken by Lucifer’s disappearing act. “I don’t understand. He shouldn’t be up and about. In fact, he shouldn’t even be coherent after such major surgery. The drugs in his system should’ve made him higher than a kite.”

“He’s a fast healer with an abnormal constitution when it comes to liquor. I should know – I’ve seen the remnants of his benders enough times. Maybe he processed the medication faster too?” Chloe offered, and then sighed. “I better go track down this idiot – he’s an honest-to-God danger to himself sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2 everyone. I posted this one way earlier than I was intending, but I couldn't help myself. I needed to release this to commiserate with the fandom over S319 'Orange is the New Maze'. Anyone else feeling awfully empty after that emotionally charged episode? My heart is a heavy dead weight at this point.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter (and that some Chloe x Lucifer banter fixes any emotional pain you might be suffering from the latest episode). Please comment and let me know what you think :)  
> And if you have ideas on where you think this story should head, feel free to let me know. I could always use some inspiration ;)


	3. The Devil gets Burnt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer gets out of the hospital and runs into his brother, Amenadiel.

Lucifer, now clothed in something more respectable, albeit ill fitting (he’d switched with a handsome man who he’d led into a storeroom cupboard for a fun time, as per the bargain), strode confidently out through the automatic hospital doors.

His personal effects – his phone and wallet – were thankfully easy to retrieve from the front desk as he signed himself out (the nurse was a rather pretty thing – giggly too – and he’d indisputably proven that his powers were indeed still functioning on the female populace). If he wasn’t in such a hurry, he’d have called his valet or Maze to bring him the corvette. Instead, he strolled over to the taxi rank and slid into the first cab.

“To Lux, my dear man,” he said, before the man could say a word. He fished out some bills from his wallet, which was strangely covered in blood (not that he minded, but it disturbed him that he didn’t remember how) and held them up. Looking directly into the rear-view mirror, he said, “A small tip if you get me there in record time.”

The taxi driver – a rather average human specimen – nodded with a wide grin. “You won’t even know what hit you,” he said, before shifting the gear stick and flooring it out of the parking lot.

“Yes, well, not knowing what – or _who_ – hit me is part of the problem,” said Lucifer to himself, leaning back into the cheap vinyl seats. He watched the cars flying past with bored detachment, mind preoccupied. Why was the detective woman resistant to his powers? She said that she was with him…was his current predicament her fault? Was she sent by his father? Was she even human? Did she take his memories?

No, he didn’t feel that she was the perpetrator of _that_ particular crime. The detective had seemed genuinely shocked and upset over his inability to recall their supposed ‘work relationship’. He still didn’t understand what drove him to spark it in the first place. He hated the LAPD. A corrupt and annoying organisation if ever there was one. Oh, the corruptness didn’t bother him. It was the fact they lied about it. Pretended they were wholly good and genuine. Not to mention how they enforced ridiculous rules and laws on people. Not unlike a certain someone he knew…

The car jerked to a sudden stop, bouncing him in the seat.

“We’re here,” said the taxi driver, grinning ear to ear. He turned around and asked, “How was that? Fast enough?”

Lucifer looked blandly at the man. “You’re stop was horrendous, but you did indeed deliver your end of the bargain. So, here’s mine,” he said, flicking his hand out, folded bills between his fingers. “But before I go, a simple question?”

The taxi driver took the money, stuffing it hastily into his shirt pocket, as if he thought Lucifer would change his mind and take it back. “Sure thing, man.”

“You’ve just earned yourself a lot of money, breaking a lot of silly laws to do so – something I know the police aren’t too fond of. So, what is it that you desire?”

The man, enraptured by the endlessness of Lucifer’s dark eyes, started talking. “Drugs.”

Lucifer cracked a grin. “Ooh, drugs. How delightful. Well, you can certainly buy a lot of those now. What are you into? Ecstasy? Heroine? No, you don’t look much like a shooter to me, so probably not.”

“Oh, I don’t do them. I need ‘em for my sister,” the man said truthfully, still under the influence of a very different kind of drug.

“Riiight,” Lucifer drawled out, nodding slowly.

“She’s got an addiction, you see. I just want to help her.”

“By giving her drugs? I’m all for doing ‘illegal’ substances – believe me – but how is that helping her?” he said, finally severing the link between them.

The man blinked and looked confused. “Wha –?”

“Oh don’t worry, people like to tell me all sorts of naughty little things. Must be something about my devilishly handsome face,” Lucifer offered with a wink. “So how is offering your dear sister drugs helping her? From my understanding, most people try to do the opposite.”

The man sighed heavily. “I tried to get her to stop once, but it didn’t work. She hated me for it and went way off the deep end. So I figured if I helped her instead, she’d let me in. At least this way I can still look out for her, even if I don’t like what she’s doing.”

Lucifer nodded. “I see. Well, do yourself – and her – a favour: buy the good stuff. Clean and unlaced. Taking a bad batch of cut drugs won’t end well. In fact, where’s your phone?” said Lucifer, offering out his hand. He clicked impatiently. “Come on, I haven’t got all day.”

The man quickly grabbed his phone out of the centre console and placed it in Lucifer’s waiting palm. Lucifer quickly punched in some numbers, typed in a name and hit save. He handed the phone back. “Call that number. He’s a good supplier. I can personally vouch for that,” he said with a wink, and then exited the taxi, leaving the baffled man behind.

 

Lucifer hurriedly entered Lux; he really didn’t need more people seeing him in this awful flannel shirt and baggy jeans. Walking into the empty club and down the stairs, he called out. “Maze. I’ve got a problem and I need you to sort it out.”

Silence.

“Maze!” he snapped.

He expected Maze to pop up from behind the bar, sending some pathetic human on his way, but she didn’t. Must’ve gone hunting instead. “Never bloody here when I need you,” he said stroppily, turning around and storming to the elevator. He was itching to be dressed in something familiar. Something fine and stylish. Something that bloody well _fitted_.

The doors dinged, opening at the entrance of his penthouse. He walked in and froze as he rounded the corner. There at the bar was the one man he never expected to be drinking – in his apartment no less. “Amenadiel,” he said, tone strained.

Amenadiel turned around, leaving his half-emptied glass on the polished wood top. “I see you’re finally out of the hospital. I’m surprised. It took you longer than I thought.”

The fire he’d felt earlier rekindled in a burning blaze. In a flash, his hand was wrapped around his brother’s neck, crushing it. “Did you do this?” he growled, eyes flashing wildly, lips curled in a snarl.

As expected, his brother retaliated, smashing a hand into his elbow. Grip loosening, his brother kicked him in the chest – firmly but not hard –, sending Lucifer stumbling back a few paces, rubbing his chest.

“No, it wasn’t me,” said Amenadiel before Lucifer had a chance to restart his attack. “The detective called me and said –”

“Wait, you know her?” said Lucifer, straightening up, brows puckered.

“Indeed. She said that you didn’t remember her and had checked yourself out of the hospital before speaking to a doctor. I told her she needn’t worry and that I’d deal with you,” explained Amenadiel in his monotone voice.

Lucifer scoffed. “Take me back to Hell you mean,” he said, walking around the bar and pulling out a glass of his own. He grabbed the nearest bottle of whisky and started pouring. “I told you before, I’m not going back. I’m done with that literal Hell-hole,” he said and shot down the entire glass he’d poured. It was a terrible waste of good alcohol, he knew, but he was in no mood to sit and savour. Seeing Amenadiel was just the icing on the cake.

“I’m not planning on taking you back to Hell, Luci,” said Amenadiel.

“Oh really,” said Lucifer, tone sour, and poured another glass. “That’s all you’ve been trying to do for the past few years, so forgive me if I don’t believe you, brother.”

“I’m not – ”

“I must say,” Lucifer interrupted, washing down another glass whole – perhaps he should forget the glasses by this point? “Waltzing into my home, having a drink and waiting for me to show is a new tactic. I give you props for finally shaking things up.”

“If you’d just listen to –”

“No. I’m done listening. You’re like a broken record. A tasteless record with no beat and no soul. Seriously, what else do I have to do before you understand I don’t want to –”

“Lucifer, listen to me!” shouted Amenadiel, smashing a hand down on the bar top a might too hard.

Lucifer threw a hand up in disgust at the small chip in the wood. “What’d you do that for? I just had that fixed,” he said accusingly. “I think I preferred it when you were interrupting my fun in the club with your timey-whimey thing. Now why don’t you disappear so I can enjoy a quiet drink – or several – by myself?” He waggled his fingers dismissively and walked away, glass in hand.

Amenadiel breathed out steadily. How he hadn’t killed his brother by now from sheer annoyance was beyond him. “Lucifer,” he started, “I’m not taking you back to Hell. Not anymore. And even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

Lucifer turned around and eyed him strangely. “What do you mean _you can’t_? Daddy change his mind? Finally given up?” A wicked grin suddenly split across his face. “Oh. What’s dearest Daddy going to do when he realises you’ve failed your mission?”

“Wait…you don’t remember any of it, do you?” Amenadiel said slowly.

Lucifer gave a short, bitter laugh. “Remember _what?”_ he spat. First the detective and now Amenadiel!

“I stopped trying to take you back a long time ago. Some…things happened,” Amenadiel said, voice thick.

“What things, brother?” Amenadiel opened his mouth and closed it again. Lucifer narrowed his eyes; his brother was certainly acting very strangely and unforthcoming. “Does this have something to do with the detective?”

Amenadiel cleared his throat. “She is…a part of things.”

“Things?” questioned Lucifer, face curving into a smile – one that didn’t reach his burning eyes. “Do tell. You know how much I love stories. Especially ones about me. Ones that – apparently – I don’t even remember.”

“You met the detective almost a year ago. A lot has happened in that year,” said Amenadiel vaguely. “A lot has changed.”

Lucifer almost dropped the glass between his fingers, Amenadiel’s words whooping the air out of his lungs just as efficiently as one of his punches. Smile frozen on his face, he said quietly, “Are you saying that I don’t remember an entire year?”

“It’s plausible, yes.”

A pregnant pause. Suddenly, Lucifer’s rich laugh filled the apartment and he was shaking his head, a pointed finger waggling at his brother. “You almost had me with your bullshit. I see you’ve developed a sense of humour, as twisted as it is.”

“I’m not lying to you.”

Still chuckling away, Lucifer took a sip of his drink. “Sure. And I’m not the Devil,” he snorted sarcastically. “Just go, would you? I’m not in the mood for your nonsense right now. Come back some other time. Or better yet, not at all,” he said and stalked away to his bedroom, not sticking around to see if his brother actually left or not. He didn’t care.

“Okay. I see you want some space, Luci. I’ll come by tomorrow and we can talk then,” he heard Amenadiel say and – presumably – leave.

“Don’t bother,” he called out and smashed his glass down onto a bench-top, harder than intended. It shattered, pieces skittering along the black marble and all over the floor. “Oh, bloody Hell,” he said vehemently. He ignored the broken glass and continued walking, barely feeling the crunch in his feet. Pulling off the shirt, he threw it to the ground. Next, the pants. He’d burn them later, he decided. They were a literal crime.

Lucifer stepped into his en-suite bathroom, which was almost as big as his bedroom. Matt black tiles ran the length of the floor and walls. The would be overwhelming darkness of the décor was punctuated by a full-length glass wall with a spectacular view of the cityscape (which was breathtaking at night), and the greenery of a few plants. Padding over to the shower, he turned the hot water on high. No cold. The internal thermostat in his home ran as high as he could make it without breaking it, and he enjoyed the mild warmth an 80-degree shower brought him. Pity it couldn’t run any hotter. He stood there, letting the water wash over him. Out of the tangled mess in his mind, one niggling thought kept breaking to the forefront: what if Amenadiel was telling the truth?

Lucifer yelped, the water suddenly scolding, burning his skin red raw. What the Hell? Did he – the Devil – just get burnt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy chapter 3 guys :)  
> If there are any typos, I apologise (I do go through and edit myself, but stuff can still slip through the cracks). 
> 
> Lucifer's earlier rocky relationship with Amenadiel is in full swing here. I hope I was able to write their characters well. Poor Lucifer seems a bit on edge after leaving the hospital and not really remembering anything about what happened, don't you think?
> 
> Let me know what you think down below! ^^  
> Your comments really motivate me to keep writing.


End file.
